He huffed out a breath and dug through his medical bag. “Where in tarnation did I put my stethoscope?”
Forsythia rose and quietly crossed to him. She gently reached behind his shoulders and lifted the instrument from his neck.
“Oh.” He took it, a bit shamefaced, and hung it on its hook, then sank into his chair, rubbing his forehead. He sat there for a moment, head in his hand, then looked up at her. “I dearly want to marry you, Forsythia Nielsen.”
“And I you.” She drew near and laid her hands on his shoulders. The vulnerability in his brown eyes set her heart to thudding. “So very much, Adam. But at the right time. Not sooner than we should, simply because we don’t want to wait.” She glanced at the narrow staircase leading up from the office. “Besides, wouldn’t it, in some ways, be better to wait till the house is ready anyway?”
Adam sat still for a moment, then leaned his head back and groaned a sigh. “I suppose. I’ve been fighting that thought, but yes, in a strictly practical sense, it would be the wiser move. And no doubt in the other ways you mention as well. As much as I didn’t want to hear it, I value the strength in you to say it.” He gave her a wry smile. “Very well. We’ll postpone the wedding till spring. But once a livable frame for the house exists, I warn you, I will brook no more excuses to carrying you over its threshold just as soon as Rev. Pritchard can pronounce us man and wife.”
Forsythia kissed him right on those penitent lips. “It’s a pact.”
The decision was right. She knew it by the holy peace in her heart. But oh, Lord, these will be another six very long months.
It was snowing.
Balanced on a ladder leaned against the sod wall of the newly enclosed barn, Lark tipped her head back to see the fluffy flakes falling fast from above.
“Think it means to stick this time?” Isaac McTavish, who had been helping them finish the barn before winter, asked from where he crouched near the roof’s peak, helping lay the final sod bricks across the closely spaced rafters. Snow already dusted white over the patched shoulders of his coat.
“Looking likely.” Lark brushed snowflakes from her eyelashes. Though they were only a week from Christmas, the snow until now had been meager. “How’s the roof seem?”
“Tight as we can make it. Your stock’ll be snug as bugs this winter, I’m thinkin’.”
“Praise be.” Lark climbed down the ladder, then held it steady for Isaac to descend.
“Is the roof f-finished?” Jesse came up, leading Buttercup. “I thought I should get the animals in from the s-snow.”
“Good thinking.” Lark patted his shoulder. What would they have done without this faithful young man? “And yes, the barn is finished.” A weight lifted from her chest with the words. At last, their homestead was ready for winter. And just in time too.
“Stay for supper?” she asked Isaac, blinking through the snowfall, which was thicker and faster now.
“I’d best get back to the Youngs’ before I get myself stranded.” Since Thanksgiving, Isaac had taken up lodging in the banker’s barn, helping his son-in-law run the farm—not that it abounded with work just now, hence his helping the Nielsens and whatever other families had need. He touched his hat with a gloved hand. “But thank you kindly. Perhaps another time.”
Of course he wouldn’t want to stay with the snowstorm. “Would you join us for Christmas dinner, then? Weather permitting, that is.”
“I just might do that. Evenin’, Miss Larkspur.” Turning up his coat collar against the snow, Isaac touched his hat again and headed off, disappearing into a blur of white.
The snow did indeed stick, falling steadily overnight and building to six inches by morning. Robbie and Sofie stared with wide-eyed wonder, then spent the morning playing in the new white world, all aglitter in the winter sunshine. Del and Forsythia watched by the window while sewing linens for Forsythia’s trousseau, baby Mikael playing on his quilt by their feet, but Lark and Lilac donned hats and mittens for an old-fashioned snowball fight with the children.
When a cold, wet missile splatted directly in her face, Lark shrieked and fell backward into the snow, arms flailing.
“Children, this is how you make snow angels.” She spread her legs and arms. “See?” Her laughter bubbled with Robbie’s as he threw himself down to imitate her. Lord, it feels so good to laugh. She squinted up into the deep blue sky. Can I dare to think we are truly home—that this journey I started us on last spring has come to such a good end? That we seem to be safe here and settled at last?
A verse floated through her mind. “Yea, the Lord shall give that which is good; and our land shall yield her increase.” Truly, you have been faithful to that promise, Father. Thank you.
And before they knew it, it was Christmas.
Robbie and Sofie woke early and squealed over the little gifts filling their stockings. After a simple breakfast, the sisters set to work preparing their first Christmas dinner in Nebraska. They had no turkey this year, but a plump goose Lilac had shot had been roasting since before dawn in the oven of their new, larger cookstove, bought with some of Lark’s remaining winnings. Del mashed potatoes and baked squash, while Forsythia whipped fresh butter for the hot rolls, a treat now that Buttercup was with calf and her milk was starting to dry up. They mostly had to save it for Mikael.
The doctor and Jesse arrived, coats and scarves frosted with fresh snow. Lark set the table, listening to the children chatter as Robbie played with his new wooden train, carved by Jesse, and Sofie crooned to her rag doll, fashioned in secret by Del to tuck in the little girl’s stocking that morning.
Lark glanced out the window.
